CHAPTER XVII
A MISSION OF DANGER
I got up and called to some sailors who were falling into the rear of the now departing column.
“Here, my men, here’s a comrade wounded and unable to walk. Will you leave him to be butchered by the Indians?”
They stopped, and cast hesitating looks at the old boatswain, where he lay groaning.
“There’s a-many of ’em about,” observed one man. “We can’t save them all, sir.”
“But this is an old friend of mine, who has saved my life before now,” I pleaded. And seeing them undecided, I went on, “What do you say; I will give you a hundred rupees—two hundred—apiece if you carry him safe into Calcutta?”
They brisked up when they heard this offer. A small tree with dark green leaves stood close by, from which they tore some branches, and quickly made out a rude litter. On to this they lifted my poor old friend, and so carried him off, renewing his groans at every step.